


Between the Leaves

by pillow forts (pyroooah)



Category: Naruto
Genre: A teensy bit angst, Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, POV Uchiha Madara, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyroooah/pseuds/pillow%20forts
Summary: And Madara realizes that there is only one girl and one girl who he wanted to change the world for. It wasn’t because Touka Senju did anything extraordinary, but it was because she was the first Senju in battle, to smile at him—like he was another human being.And whatever happened next, over the years with her and Hashirama, only made him yearn more for peace. AU.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Touka/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Between the Leaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riashishiria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riashishiria/gifts).



> First off, this one's for Ria and Cee and pals from the discord to who I showed a MadaTouka scene from an Izuna/Touka fic I had been dabbling with some years back, and then they ended up being like on the Madatouka train. Enjoy this gift, Ria!! Thanks for all your live reacts and betaing my shisui fic till both of us got a headache probably. 
> 
> Second off, this is for rare pairs. Because there's like a few of touka senju fics, and I HOPE YOU LOT WRITE MORE. 
> 
> Third off, I'm probably so invested, and I spent so much time fiddling with this fic, I'll probably come back to edit out anything weird.
> 
> Fourth off, they sent me exo songs, and for whatever reason this really angsty fic ended up being FLUFF because of the songs??

Madara was ten the first time he saw her. 

There’s not much to remember about that battle apart from him—an Uchiha—being put under a genjutsu. It was broken a minute later, because his clansmen had ambushed her. He remembers her, because she was the first Senju plucky enough to pull genjutsu against him—an Uchiha could see right through it and succeed. 

He had thought she had died. 

* * *

She didn’t die.

He saw her two years later again. She was a bit older this time, and Madara thought back to that last battle. How had she managed to survive and escape?

War wasn’t for pretty girls like her. Her skin was littered with cuts, and danced between attacks with sheer accuracy. Madara wouldn’t tell her she was pretty, of course. Because she was the enemy, and he was supposed to hate her and destroy her with all the fire of an Uchiha. 

He just didn’t want to. 

Her eyes were fiery jade. Their swords clashed, and she nearly missed impaling him. She was warning him to take this seriously. 

They fought over the rocky expanse. He remembered one of his clansmen once saying that you can probably convey your feelings through battle.

Her hand was deft, light and quick, especially when she backhanded him. He got another swift knee to the abdomen, and his momentum and balance temporarily thrown off, he recovered quickly. He flew back, wiping the back of his mouth, and the sting of battle still on his cheek. Fire curled in his lungs as he formed the Katon no Jutsu. 

She retorted with a water jutsu—a thick jet of water spurting from her lips—and the world around filled with steam as their jutsu clashed. Steam filled the area, and it licked his skin with hot vapour. 

He blinked, as he saw a shadow move through the cloud of steam. Thick vapour filled his vision, and his eyes darted in the fog.

She was behind him, steam curling her wet hair, as she brought her sword to his when he swung around. He smirked with adrenaline of a good battle. 

He was surprised to see a smile on her face too as their swords clashed. 

Before he could ask her name, the Senju called for retreat. They exchanged a few blows, before she made her escape through the steam. 

She was gone.

* * *

He gazed up at the blue sky through the leaves. The wind kicked up his hair, and in a certain type of light—the leaves looked jade. He heard a boy crying in the distance, and Madara got up to investigate. 

He looked at the boy, and the boy was a very grubby boy. The grubby boy was also a ninja by the way he stilled. 

“My brother died.” 

“Ah.” 

“Do you ever have any brothers?” he asked him.

“I used to have five.” 

The boy looked at him.

“We were four too. Now we’re just three.” 

* * *

He makes friends with the grubby boy. He also finds out—much to his horror—that the boy is a Senju. Hashirama Senju. But Madara says nothing about it. This continues on for months. 

Hashirama left the area, and he decided to leave for the day. 

A kunai slices past his cheek and wedges itself in the bark behind him. His cheek stings. She’s standing atop the branch. Thirteen year old Madara—swivelled around, sharingan alit—to find her standing atop the tree. He hasn’t seen her in nearly three years, but he can always recognize her. Her eyes—as she fixes hers on his chin—and she’s not wearing battle regalia for once, but all the same, he knows not to underestimate her.

They aren’t the same height anymore, he thought. 

“Are you going to stare at me or are you going to answer?” 

He blinked. “What?” He had missed her question. 

“You’re meeting with a Senju,” she said. “Uchiha,” she added. 

He didn’t reply. He had figured that Hashirama was a Senju. Because, he’d thought he’d seen him.

“You’re not surprised.” 

He didn’t respond, and he planned to pluck out the kunai from the bark and use it against her. But, much to his surprise, she huffed an exhausted and amused sigh. 

“Do you have any ill intentions towards him?” she asked him then.

“How long have you been following me?” he shot back.

She simply put a hand on her hip, raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ve been following Hashirama-sama for a few days now,” she said. “It appears he just has a playmate.” 

He initially bristled at the word playmate, but then he realized what she could have seen. His ears reddened at the antics the two of them pulled, while this girl watched them for potential ill intentions. She rolled her eyes at him, as if she was looking at a child. That sparked a twinge of annoyance. 

“If you hurt him,” she begins. “You’ll have to answer me, Uchiha. I know who you are.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“And he probably believes in peace,” she said. “Please don’t encourage him. He will get in a lot of trouble for this.” 

Madara remembered Hashirama telling him about how no one at his ‘village’ understands him, and no one understands why war should end. Maybe this girl. Maybe she can.

“Don’t you?”

She doesn’t scoff at the idea like Izuna would, and she doesn’t look at him coldly like Tajima Uchiha would. Peace between the Uchiha and Senju is an unattainable dream, Hashirama sometimes says. But he wants to make it a reality. 

“I don’t believe in foolish things like peace.” 

She turned. 

“What’s your name?” he called after her.

But she had already flash-stepped away through the dimming forest. 

* * *

He felt the sting of his wound, he just thinks intently of her. 

She’s a good kunoichi. Women were often stealthier, his father had said. They were subtle. They could seduce. They could also become more lethal weapons in war. 

She had followed him and Hashirama stealthily. She hid her chakra signature, her presence, and revealing herself at the perfect moment. She maintained her silence, and she could have killed him at any point. But she didn’t. The thought sends a weird mixture of fear and fascination through him. 

Madara catalogued these thoughts together as his cut on his cheek stung, and he held the kunai—her kunai—that did it. 

“Where’d you get that from?” Izuna asked him.

“Training.”

* * *

Two years pass.

He sees her once in all those skirmishes. She often fights moving like a shadow in the dark between the thick foliage of the trees. She catches his clansmen unaware in genjutsu when their sharingan is not activated—a true insult to a clan full of sharingan users. Paranoia was her weapon, they say. She’s stealthy. She’s swift. Her ambushes in the dark are what make her so formidable. 

His father dies at some point when Butsuma Senju lands the killing blow. Butsuma Senju succumbs shortly after. They say that that _woman_ caught his father unaware. 

The Shadow of the Senju, they call her. 

That’s why the Uchiha must always keep the sharingan on the battlefield. 

* * *

After he becomes clan-head, and he doesn’t want to repeat the same mistakes of his father. His father may have been a leader who valued sheer strength in numbers, in power, and ability. But Madara had noticed something off about the strategy of the battle that had caused such a heavy casualty.

He had his best spies find out what they could about the Shadow of the Senju,

The Shadow of the Senju works mysteriously, is notorious for her efficient use of genjutsu to get the job done, and she creates grand elaborate disguises to hide her steps. 

There’s still no name.

* * *

But the first time he _actually_ hears her name is from Tobirama’s throat.

“TOUKA!” 

Her name is jarring, and it rings in his ears, as he sees her fall. His own brother is wounded and ragged, but not as fatally as her. Tobirama flew into their battle, and he caught her as she fell. 

Hashirama steps in between them, his eyes are wide as he takes her in, She has an arm slung over his brother’s shoulder, and she’s got her eyes clenched in pain. But she still looks determined. Tobirama picks her up frantically, and Hashirama has never looked so afraid in his life. 

Madara realizes with a stunning clarity that this is where it could all end. Their childhood dreams. Their dreams of peace. He’s also just looking at her. 

“Hashirama,” he then says—rather impulsively. “We should have a truce.” 

She’s looking in his direction then, through dim eyes in Tobirama’s arms, and Hashirama looks conflicted. His brother bristles behind him. 

“There are so many wounded on either side.” 

And Hashirama tears his eyes away from his brother and he looks around with tired eyes. And to all of their surprise, agreement comes from the least expected person. 

“He’s... right,” she says softly, before she slumps into Tobirama’s arms. 

He clenches it shut. Indignation bristles from his brother and Tobirama, and Hashirama—frozen between fear and confusion—didn’t know what to do. Only, she looks at him with a sense of resignation.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he said. He motions to his brother to take Touka away. She briefly glanced in his direction. The Senju retreated, and his brother turned to him.

“Niisama—” 

“Gather our dead,” he ordered. 

He doesn’t know if she’ll live. He wants her to live. Dread pools in the bottom of his belly. 

“This is our win,” he added, and he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

* * *

She doesn’t die again.

He’s glad he’s wrong twice, because the broken look on Hashirama’s face still haunts him as he watches yet another one of his family die on him.

She’s a haunting image, sturdy, strong, and yet, he can make out bandages underneath her armour. 

The Shadow of the Senju is lit by the torch flames that surround either clans, and this is the first time he can actually see her for who she is. The lights flicker across her calm face, and her eyes glow. She looks tired, and he can make out the dull look in her eyes. 

Touka Senju, he thought. That’s the name of his mystery girl. 

The discussions begin. They will find a plot, they will build a village together as part of the truce. 

And once all the details are hashed, the clans retreat to their respective compounds in silence, and Hashirama looks brighter for it. 

* * *

Negotiations are going to be a headache. He decides to get away from the clan for one day, and it used to be so much easier when he was younger. Now they badger him about this and that. 

He finds himself in that old spot next to the river where he and Hashirama played. The Shadow of the Senju clan has her back to him. She stares at the river, and she has a smooth rock in her hand.

She knows someone is there, and she will no doubt attack. 

“Are you doing better?” he asks her as a form of greeting.

She turns her head slightly to regard him with a lilt of confusion, as if she expected hostility from him. But she’s been through a war, and he really can’t expect any better. 

“In what way?” 

“The wound my brother inflicted on you,” he stated.

She huffed. He can see a scar on her collarbone.

“I am doing well,” she said. “I’m not a kunoichi if I can’t handle a little pain.” There’s a hint of pride there, but also because she doesn’t want to come off as weak in front of him. 

He picks up a stone, and he throws it across the river. He does eight skips.

She throws her stone, and she does five.

“You’re heavy handed.” 

“That was a fluke.” 

He laughed. 

“Even, when not at war, you’re competitive?” 

He smirks at her. 

She has an amused look on her face, the same one he remembers her for, when she’s surrounded by billowing steam, and it highlights her eyes again. He finds himself staring at her for a beat longer, eyes trailing up her profile, as he takes her in. He’s older now, and he’s a little less afraid to admit to attraction.

She looks at him.

“What are you doing here, Uchiha?” 

“I needed some time alone.” 

“Well—” 

“And you?” 

She nods at the treeline. “My sister is out there. She’s plucking out herbs for the clan. I’m watching over her.” 

He scans the treeline as well. 

“Is your sister a kunoichi?” he asked her.

“She doesn’t have the desire to be one. Never did.” 

“A pity,” he says with—as charm he didn’t know he had. “Her sister is the Legendary Shadow of the Senju too.” 

He catches a flush on her cheeks, and she darts her eyes away with a snort. Madara allows himself a grin, and he schools it immediately. 

“The life of a kunoichi is hard. If she doesn’t have the will to fight, she will die,” she said. “I want her to settle down.” 

He registers this quietly. 

“Do you have any other siblings?” 

“They passed away in the war,” she says. “Two brothers. Both older. Yourself?” 

“Five brothers, and now I have two.” 

“War is truly an ugly thing,” she says sympathetically. 

“Indeed,” he said. “Do you still mean it?” 

She looks in his direction. 

“You said you don’t believe in foolish things like peace.” 

“I don’t,” she affirmed. 

“And now?” 

“What will change? I will still fight for the village—against another village or alliance. The Uchiha aren’t the only clan we’ve feuded against.” she said. 

He hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t thought of their clan being only one the illustrious Senju clan feuded against. In that sense, she’s right, because he too had matters with other rivaling clans, but none were as important to him as the Senju. But he did believe in Hashirama’s ideal of peace. 

A younger girl calls out to her. The girl looks to be about twelve. 

“Nee-san! I found what I—” 

She freezes as she looks in his direction. 

As if she was trained never to directly approach an Uchiha all her life, she doesn’t approach her sister until she’s sure they are not fighting. 

She takes a step towards the river, and she steps on it. She looks over her shoulder at him. 

“I’ll take my leave. Have a good day.” 

Madara doesn’t know why he feels this renewed sense of motivation as he watches the two sisters leave. Her sister gives him a brief glance, and then she glances back at her sister. He feels this itch to go back and work on those negotiations. 

* * *

They find a plot of land that’s large and spacious to build a village on, and they all decide to rest before they start planning. 

He and Hashirama sit underneath the shade while their clansmen are still apart. Itama—Hashirama’s brother—goes to make a conversation with some of the Uchiha boys closer in age to him. Tobirama’s looking over the plans. Izuna barks some orders. 

He turned to Hashirama. 

“Where is your right-hand woman?” 

Hashirama blinks at him.

“Oh! Touka-neechan?” he asks. “She’s not here. She’s on a mission for the clan.” 

In a peace-time? He raises his eyebrows.

“She’s handling a few stakeholders,” he said. “I usually send her or Itama. But this one was a little too pesky for him.” Hashirama’s not obligated to give him details, but maybe a partnering clan is in danger of turning against the Senju, because of the truce. 

Hashirama’s youngest brother sits in the shade with some of the younger members of his clan. He’s trying to make friends. They seem to like him. Madara watches on with a smile. 

“She’s older than us?” 

“By two years,” he said. 

Madara then thinks that his thirteen year old self’s embarrassment was valid. She was fifteen at the time. She would be twenty-two now. 

“Her brother died in battle for Itama, when he was younger. He took on four clansmen of yours,” he said. “We were younger then, but he was twenty-four. He was at the prime of his shinobi career.” 

Madara had heard something of this. “That’s a pity.” 

Hashirama shook his head. “It’s the lifestyle of a shinobi.”

“I guess that’s where she learned to be such a good fighter.” 

“Her brother was against her fighting, actually,” he said. “But my father recognized her talents. My father thought he could put her to good use. She’s one of the most ambitious kunoichi we have. She will be responsible for a lot of the diplomatic and mission work that comes up, because she has a lot of mission experience. My father rarely brought her to battle.” 

“Is she responsible for the Senju strategy during some of the later skirmishes?” he asked him then.

“Yes,” he said. Hashirama then gives him a funny look. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions about Touka-neechan.” 

“She’s a riveting individual to me.” 

“Oh?” 

“The Shadow of the Senju Clan.” 

Hashirama doesn’t ask him anything further, but Madara had a feeling that it sounded a touch bit frosty. He’s sure Hashirama just feels protective over Touka. Some matters aren’t just about duty to the clan. 

* * *

The village starts to rebuild, and the Uchiha and the Senju as a _village_ makes them renowned. 

She’s often dispatched on missions more frequently for her clan, because they’ve yet to hash out a leader, and Hashirama explains that there were stake-holders in their war. So he doesn’t see her, because she’s busy dealing with old alliances, negotiation, diplomatic relationships, threats—that sort of thing.

Because she knows the landscape, Hashirama explains to his brother. She’s travelled the most out of most of them in the clan. 

Itama accompanies her on these long missions. 

* * *

Now the thing about a woman like Senju Touka is that she’s one of the more unnervingly confident opponents he’s faced. As an example, she flaunts genjutsu against Uchiha. Senju Touka is _notorious_ for her long ranged genjutsu, which can immobilize opponents at a distance. She’s notorious for twining it in battle. She's notorious for making herself invisible until the opportune moment.

But for him, he'd always zero in on her, whether out of preservation or intrigue—he doesn't know.

And, when he looks at her, he sees what Butsuma Senju probably saw in her as a promising young warrior. She’s graceful, and she’s still quick.

But he takes it a step further than that, he sees a determined, tired woman, who was used by her clan for her skills as a kunoichi and her ability to strategize. He sees someone who is worn. They were shinobi. This life had a life-span of thirty years, and after watching his brothers die, he used to think he’d be a self-proclaimed legend if he lived past thirty.

He sees her when she turns twenty-three, and she’s practicing alone on one of the sparse training grounds. Her hair is dishevelled and loose, but she’s still a sight for sore eyes. 

The kunai slices past him, and he cocks his head with a lazy grin. She turns to him with one hand on her hip. 

“Are you just going to stare at me all day, or do you want to fight me?” 

She raked her sweaty hair back as she said this, and it briefly distracted him. He feels something curl inside his belly.

Twenty-three year old Touka is a treat to fight. They are both sharpened by battle for years, swords clashing in the sun, and then—for nostalgia’s sake—

He performs a raging katon, and she brings her hands together bringing a powerful suiton in retaliation, and geysers emerge from the ground. The training ground is filled with steam again as jutsu clash, and she’s behind him, and he’s quicker this time, and his sword swings past her, and she cocks her head with a grin.

She remembers too, he thought. 

The next thing he thinks is that she’s close. His sharingan can see everything, the way the water drips off her chin and the way her face narrows with a smirk. Something flares inside him, and then she pulls away from him. 

“You’ve gotten better, Uchiha,” she said. 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. They fight again. 

* * *

Later, after she leaves him, Madara still feels the singes and cuts on his body, and the sun shines through the leaves, and there’s an odd color of jade occasionally in the hues of green. Or perhaps, he’d always learned to spot it. 

And Madara realizes that there is only one girl and one girl who he wanted to change the world for, and it’s her. It wasn’t because Touka Senju did anything extraordinary, but it was because she was the first Senju in battle, to smile at him—like he was another human being.

Whatever happened next, over the years with her and Hashirama, only made him yearn more for peace.

Twenty two year old Madara reflects on this, and he realizes she knows it too. 

* * *

Hashirama asks him to be Hokage. Madara gives him a funny look. It's as if Hashirama has an extra head sprouting from his chest. Because, as Hashirama explains, he would make a good Hokage. He wanted the truce after all. 

But instead of declining it with vehemence, he opens his mouth to protest the _whole_ idea, but instead—

“Do I get Senju Touka as an assistant?” 

Hashirama blinked at him with confusion, before he tilted his head at him to mirror his funny look. 

* * *

Being the Shodaime is not all what it’s cracked up to be, and the Uchiha Hokage and his Senju Assistant are a dynamic duo. Over the past year or so, she’d saunter into his office, a stack of papers in her arms, and she’d slam it on his desk. He’d curse. He’d work through it. Then she’d pointedly mention that she plans to spar. To which, he invites himself. 

She’s got a sharp sense of humor, and she’s all edges and logic, and she uses grand words like “the fury of a thousand warriors.” 

He snorts into his hand, but he still lets her write his speeches. His brother thinks it’s hilarious—and that he’s whipped. 

Occasionally, he’d just stop work, and he’d groan into his hands. She leans in, and she’s reading his work, and he’d stop and just stare at the side of her face.

“I know I’m beautiful, Uchiha, but I’m asking you which clause you’re having trouble with.” 

He laughs. She rolls her eyes with a smile. 

* * *

He pushed up his Hokage hat and he blinked out the sunlight. 

Madara yawns widely, and his assistant jabs him in the rib. He gives her a grumpy look. They hold their second kage meeting in the Land of Iron after five years. He hasn't slept well enough in two days, and she's made so many points for him to hash out. And he half-listened, mesmerized by how intelligent his wife was, and at some point he made her forget her points as he slunk his arms around her. 

"Hokage-sama," she said. 

"Hmmm?" 

Touka is unruffled, arms crossed, and looking perfectly put together, cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“Please at least _try_ to look interested,” she says dryly. 

He’s probably told her a million times to call him Madara—given that they are married for two years—but she’s doing it on purpose. When they are alone, she calls him Madara in a way that sends a shiver down his spine. But they are not. His Hokage squad—personally hand-picked by her—are hidden and watching. 

She had just returned to duties after her pregnancy with their first son, and he had had it with her grandiose nonsensical proclamations of how their child will learn battle from the womb when she wanted to spar him. Her sister spent half the time complaining about how Touka might put the child through some intense training, and the boy would be horrible at socializing like his mother.

But he thinks his wife is perfect. 

But their son will be the strongest, he thinks. He’s _their_ son. 

So, when she catches him staring at her, she gives him an exasperated look. 

“Did you hear a single word I said, Hokage-sama?” 

“I’ll try,” he said. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “For you, Darling.” 

And he watches with amusement as his assistant’s skin flushes. 


End file.
